Sound of the Wind
by Mshorty
Summary: My first story. Based on FE7, but with lots of original characters. Please review, criticism definetley accepted.Please R&R!


Sound of the Wind

Original Characters: Mical: Nomad

Owen: Myrmidon

Lisa: Mage

Bergan: Hero

Forgoth: Cavalier

Zach: Pirate

Brandon: Mercenary

I do not own Fire Emblem or any of its characters.

Prologue: Bandit Attack

It was a quiet night on the plains of Sacae, and a calm, gentle breeze moved the grass, like a father ruffling his child's hair. The sound of the native tribes performing ceremonies, eating feasts and having a good time praising their Gods, carried on for miles and miles. Yet there was one spot where the noise didn't reach, an old, abandoned temple, where inside a small band of men were camped.

It was most likely that the men were mercenaries, as not many people would camp in an old dilapidated structure for pleasure. Three men sat by a fire, talking, drinking, laughing and enjoying themselves. Another one, who looked older than the others sat propped against a wall, eyes closed. He wore simple clothes, had dark red hair, and was sprouting a beard the same color. Just a short way away from them sat a young man, no older than 14, standing watch. He had black, unkempt hair, and wore simple nomad's clothes. He wasn't doing his job however; he just sat looking at the stars, remembering that horrible day one week ago…….

"Hey Mical!" Mical turned around, and immediately recognized the voice that had called his name. "What is it Lisa?" he asked, facing the overly excited girl in front of him. "Look!" she squealed, "Look at what I can do!" Lisa closed her eyes and said what sounded like an arcane chant. After a few seconds of chanting, she held her right hand out, palm pointed towards him. Suddenly, a strong gust of wind issued from her hand, and Mical yelped in surprise as he was thrown to the ground by the force of the gale. "Hey, that hurt……" he groaned as Lisa helped him up. He looked even untidier than before, his black hair all ruffled and his clothes covered in dirt. Lisa giggled at him as he tried desperately to tidy himself up, "What, don't want to look bad for Lyn?" she said with a rather large grin on her face. Mical's face turned a shade of bright red and he glared at Lisa. "Relax, I was only joking," she said, but Mical only gave a sly smile. "Oh? Well maybe I should let Owen know about his secret audience when he practices, hm?" Lisa had a look of utter shock on her face.

"H-how did you know that?" she yelled. "Well, let's just say a gust of wind brought it to me. Anyway, I have to get some target practice in. Wanna come with?" "Sure, I have nothing else to do, why not? Race you there!" She was off running before he could blink, and Mical just shook his head and laughed. "Wow, she has way too much energy sometimes."

Mical wiped his sweaty brow. All that shooting out in the sun could be hard work, especially with Lisa. She had insisted on throwing fireballs at the hay bale targets, and he had spent half of the time putting out fires instead of practicing. He and Lisa were now walking back towards the tribe's main camp, located near two rivers. The Lorca tribe were a very peace loving and conservative people, and had a deep respect for the earth. The camp was very small, with shrines to Father Sky and Mother Earth next to every tent. Their chief, while not the strongest man on the plains, was known as the Wise Owl. Overall, the Lorca were a very happy and content people.

As Mical and Lisa were walking through the camp, he heard the sound of clashing swords on the other side of the chieftain's tent. He motioned to Lisa to follow him to the other side, and when they rounded the corner, they saw their two friends Lyn and Owen practicing swordplay. The practice went on for another 10 minutes or so, before Owen kicked out with his leg, forcefully throwing Lyn off balance and sending her practice sword flying from her hand. Lisa ran up and said hello to both of them and started talking to Owen. Owen was a very quiet person, and hardly ever smiled, he and Mical were fierce rivals. While Lisa was talking to an unresponsive Owen, Mical talked with Lyn. "What happened to you?" Lyn asked, staring at Mical's messed up clothes, and Mical just narrowed his eyes at Lisa. "She and a wind spell happened, that's what." Lyn laughed, "Well anyway, try not to be late to the banquet tonight, Father and the others just left to Bulgar to get some food for the feast."

Mical's face immediately lit up at what Lyn had just said. Once every year, Lyn's father the chief would go to Bulgar to get some food, rather than hunting for it. This was to celebrate all of what Mother Sky and Father Earth created, but that didn't matter as much to him, though, because he just liked the food. His father was always berating him for not being religious enough. He and Lyn talked for a little while longer about things going on around camp, what the food was going to be like, and Lisa's infatuation with Owen. After about an hour or so of talking, Mical went to his tent to get ready for the feast.

Mical awoke to the sound of screaming. He immediately sensed something was wrong, and grabbed the oak longbow and small quiver of arrows hanging from the wall, which Lisa had given him for his birthday. He then dashed out of the tent, only to stare in horror at what he saw. The camp was burning, and bodies were everywhere. All of a sudden, his friend Barar ran towards him, with a look of pure horror on his face. "Mical! We need to get out of here, now!" "Whoa, slow down, what's happening?" said Mical in an attempt to get a clear answer from his friend. "No! There's no time, the Taliver, they, argh!" Barar didn't get to finish before a black feathered arrow pierced his throat from behind, killing him instantly and spraying warm blood all over Mical.

He looked for the source of the arrow and spotted a man with a leather shirt and a longbow, laughing at his kill. Mical immediately whipped an arrow from the quiver on his back, fitted it to the string and pulled it taught. He then aimed for the man's chest and released the string, sending the arrow flying right into the man's heart. The man looked in shock at the arrow protruding from his chest before falling over, dead. Mical looked in horror at the man lying in a pool of his own blood, and then over at Barar's still bleeding body. His first thought was that the man deserved it, but he immediately cleared his head of those thoughts, this wasn't the time! He continued on through the burning camp, filled with grief at all the dead he knew. Once he got to the chieftain's tent, he noticed the sound of clashing weapons nearby, and dashed to find the source of the sound.

It was his father and a few other men fighting off a group of the marauders. Mical was filled by a desire to help, and fired an arrow at the foe nearest to him, burying it in the side of his head. He continued to fire until the marauders were dead, killing three more. Mical's father turned to him with a look of exhaustion, his sword soaked in blood and his clothes in sweat, and looked his son in the eye. "Mical, you must listen to me. Behind our tent is my horse, tied up and set to go with supplies for our hunting trip. You must ride him out of here to safety." Mical immediately protested, "No, father you need to come too!" Mical's father looked at him sorrowfully, "I can't son, the Taliver poisoned the east stream, and all those who drank from there are unable to stand, including the chief, who it is my duty to protect. We will make our stand here, but you need to go. I won't lie to you Mical; I don't think I'll survive this, there are too many of them. Go Mical, run now!"

With that, he immediately shoved Mical away from himself and the rest of the doomed warriors. Mical stole one last look at his father before heading off to the tent they shared, tears falling freely from his eyes. He tried to find others along the way, but with no success, the Taliver had cruelly hacked through everyone else. He saw no sign of his friends, and could only pray for their safety. He kept running as hard as he could, but two of the bandits spotted him and immediately gave chase. He didn't need to look to know who was chasing him, so he kept running as hard as he could, though his feet burned. He continued on through the camp, the two bandits right on his heels.

When he reached the tent he and his father shared, he quickly ducked inside, grabbing one of his father's old swords and hiding by the entrance. One of the men rushed in, with his back to Mical, totally oblivious to the young man behind him. It was the last mistake he ever made. Mical lunged forward, sword point out, impaling the clueless man, killing him. Mical forcefully yanked the sword out, blanching at all the blood running down the blade. "Tarn, you in there?" said a voice, probably the man's partner. "Tarn?" the voice inquired again, and Mical decided not to keep the other man waiting.

Pulling the bow from his back, he notched an arrow and stepped outside the tent. The man outside didn't even have time to blink before he was impaled through the chest by a well aimed arrow and fell over, but wasn't quite dead. Mical fitted another arrow to the string and aimed down at the groaning man's face. "Please, please, let me live! I'll do anything, mercy!" begged the bandit which made Mical hesitate for a moment, and that was all the bandit needed. He pulled out a concealed dagger and slashed it across Mical's thigh and leaving a deep cut. He yelped in pain and released the arrow, hitting the bandit in the face, a not so clean kill.

The wound hurt like hell, and was bleeding badly, but he'd have to worry about it later, he had to get away. He ran to the back of the tent, where his father's horse, Padfoot, was tied to a stake. Mical immediately untied him, and climbed into the saddle, fitting his quiver of arrows to a leather thong attached to the saddle. He had learned the basics of riding a horse, and urged Padfoot forward, riding towards the camp's edge. Unfortunately, a group of four bandits spotted him, and began to chase him. Mical knew they couldn't keep up, but he didn't want them hounding him while he was riding. Mical drew an arrow from his quiver and spun his upper body around to face the bandits. He took aim and fired, hitting one of the bandits in the leg, crippling him, and then quickly fired again at the same man, killing him with an arrow to the chest. Mical drew another arrow out of his dwindling supply and fired it at another bandit, hitting him square in the neck; he was out of the fight for good. That still left two bandits and only three arrows left.

He urged Padfoot to go faster, took aim at the next bandit, and released, another kill. The last bandit continued running at him, in a rage over his dead companions. Mical let another arrow loose, hitting the man in the stomach. It only slowed him down a little though, and the bandit continued the chase. Mical fingered his last arrow; he had to make this shot count. He fitted the arrow to the string, aimed, and let it loose, hitting the bandit in the heart. For a second, it looked like the man was still alive, but he then keeled over, dead. Mical breathe a sigh of relief, and continued on, shocked.

It had all happened so fast. One moment he was feasting and chatting with his friends, and then soon after he was shooting bandits hell-bent on killing him. He ripped off part of his sleeve and used it as a makeshift bandage, and using a vulnerary his father had packed for their hunting trip to treat the wound. Tears fell from his eyes as he thought of his father. His father, the man who had raised him since his mother died, the kindest man he knew. As he continued on, he found a small grove of trees that looked like a good place to sleep. He got a fire going, got Padfoot settled, and then cried himself to sleep.

Mical was getting desperate. He had been out on the plains for a week, with no signs of anyone as far as he could see. He was out of food, and was reaching the end of his endurance. Padfoot had been almost starved, and looked like he was in no shape to continue running. Mical just couldn't go on any longer, it was just impossible. He started to feel faint, and suddenly slid off of Padfoot. He remained conscious long enough to hear someone speaking. "Captain, come quick! There's someone here, I think he's still alive……"


End file.
